


Trusting Yourself

by MarlynnOfMany



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Parallel Universes, bookverse meets TV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:01:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25178080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarlynnOfMany/pseuds/MarlynnOfMany
Summary: If you meet a version of yourself from a parallel world, how do you decide whether they're someone you can trust?  If you're the only demon to ever cut ties with Hell, that's a tricky question.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	Trusting Yourself

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a short bit to explore the idea, since it occurred to me that while the readers/viewers would know that they're both good guys, they certainly couldn't assume that.

Crowley was waiting at the duck pond with a bag of peas, trying to encourage the ducks to new height records in leaping for them, when he felt an eldritch blast of Not Right nearby. He leapt to his feet and flung the peas aside, heart in his throat. The ducks swarmed, but he took no notice. His thoughts were a whirl of possibilities, none of them good. 

It had felt almost like a summoning, but not quite. When the energies settled enough for him to make out _angel and demon, that way_ , he broke into a run. Aziraphale was in trouble. Someone from Hell had caught him on the way here. But Crowley was blessed if he was about to lose him a second time. 

Just before he burst through a screen of trees, it occurred to him that this could be a trap. Heaven and Hell had worked together before. And while the angelic aura did feel like Aziraphale, there was something off about it. And the other one— 

He leapt through the foliage to find himself face-to-face with his own eyes. 

Time seemed to stop, and it wasn’t him doing it. Those were his eyes, staring over sunglasses, with an aura nearly identical to his own. The corporation was shorter, the hair darker, but the expression looking back at him was every bit as shocked and suspicious as he felt. 

Crowley spoke first. “Who are you?” 

“Same as you, I suspect,” came the answer. His doppleganger was looking him up and down, likely forming an opinion about the black clothes that were much like the ones he wore. “Nice shoes.” 

Crowley waved the compliment aside. If this was another version of him, summoned (or whatever) from another world, then trusting him was a dangerous game. In whatever multiverse there may be, Crowley was willing to bet that many Serpents of Eden had taken a very different path. 

“Tell me about your allegiance,” he demanded. “Are you on good terms with Hell in your world? Who do you call friend? Are you trustworthy?”

The doppleganger snorted. “You first. And what kind of question is that to ask a demon, _trustworthy_?” 

Another voice spoke up, and Crowley jumped when he remembered there had been an angelic presence behind the trees too. 

“Oh, pish-posh,” the familiar voice said. “I’ll have you know he’s very trustworthy. Better than either Hell or Heaven deserve.” 

As his lookalike objected, Crowley stepped forward further to get a look at an almost-familiar face. The hair wasn’t as curly, and the clothes more modern, but the resemblance was clear. 

“You’ve got your own Aziraphale,” he breathed. 

The other demon glowered at him, taking the angel’s hand possessively. “I have,” he said. 

“Right. Good,” Crowley said, then addressed the angel. “ _You_ tell me about him.” 

True to form, this Aziraphale did. And he was every bit as warm, honest, and full of praise as Crowley had hoped. He held nothing back. 

“…Now that we’ve retired, he keeps his evildoing to the occasional prank, merely to keep his hand in: the odd coin glued to the sidewalk and what-have-you. And his garden is more glorious every year.” 

The shorter demon was visibly writhing in discomfort at all the praise, but not disputing a word of it. Crowley’s grin was equal parts schadenfreude and relief. 

“…Does that match up with your experience, dear boy?” the angel asked. 

“Yeah, just about,” Crowley admitted, still grinning. “How are you here? Why?” 

The answer to that was a lot more uncertain, full of sidelong glances and hedging. Finally the angel admitted, “I’m afraid we haven’t the foggiest.” 

“Well, me neither,” Crowley said, “But I do know a shop full of old books that are absolutely not for sale, and there might just be answers in there.” 

As if on cue, he felt the approach of his favorite aura, and heard someone pushing through the plantlife behind him. He stepped aside and took in the sight of Aziraphale brandishing an umbrella like a sword, looking at first determined, then utterly confused. 

“Who—”

“Angel! Glad you made it. Look who I met! D’you think there are any books about inter-dimensional travel on your back shelves?” 

Aziraphale settled his poleaxed expression into one of a scholar’s curiosity, lowering his umbrella and demanding to know everything. 

“We’d really just gotten into the introductions,” Crowley said. He looked to his counterpart. “Hey, do you want to tell us about _him_ now? Fair’s fair.” 

With a sharp smile, the other demon launched into a rundown of his own angel’s best qualities. Crowley was delighted to find that they both used the phrase “enough of a bastard to be worth knowing.” 

“Oh my,” Aziraphale said when the demon finished. He looked no little bit embarrassed himself, glancing from face to face. “I hardly know what to say. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Please, do come back to my bookshop, and we’ll see if we can figure out a way home for you.” 

“At the very least, there’s some good wine just waiting for a special occasion,” Crowley said. 

“Where is your bookshop?” the other angel asked. 

“Oh, it’s not far,” Aziraphale said. “In Soho. We can walk there easily enough from here.” 

“Ah, but why would you?” Crowley asked, spinning his keys. “Correct me if I’m wrong,” he said to his doppleganger, “But it’s not often you get to ride in the back seat of your own car.” 

“Fair point,” the demon admitted. “Does everything turn to the Best of Queen in yours too?” 

“Ha! Yes.” 

“Then lead the way.” 

The foursome headed off for what would at the very least be a long and interesting conversation.


End file.
